Let’s go. Let’s do it.
Okay, but let’s be smart about it.
Jeffrey straightened up his room. He tossed his clothes back into his suitcase and threw his food wrappers into the trashcan. He smoothed out the bed cover and tried to tuck it back over the pillows the way the maids did. He picked off the toothpaste glob in the sink and washed it down the drain.
He reloaded his gun. He wanted all fresh bullets. He wanted everything about it to be clean. He put the gun in his jacket pocket. He went into the bathroom and wiped off his hunting knife with a towel so it was all shiny. In the mirror, he noticed that his hair was full of static. He patted it down with water the way his mother had showed him how to do as a kid going to school picture day.
He did a few practice draws to make sure he could get everything out of his pockets. Gun right, knife left. Shoot forward, stab backward. Grab Amber’s wrist. Then let go of the knife, and keep shooting forward. This will clear some space around you, and you’ll have more of chance of making a dash. Best place to go is the Metro. Get lost in the crowd. Change trains. Change directions. Double back. Then get out and take a bus. No one will know anything on a bus. If none of that works, shoot four times and save the last bullets for you and Amber. She would want it that way.
There was nothing left to do but walk out the door. He thought he should do something ritualistic since he was going into battle, going to reclaim his Helen from Troy. He needed war paint or something, but he didn’t have anything like that. Jeffrey put everything back into his pockets and felt the knife clack against something inside. He reached in and pulled out the little gumball machine bird. Jeffrey wound her up and set her down on the hotel dresser.
The bird wobbled and walked forward as the gears turned inside her plastic body. Jeffrey thought she was going to fall off the dresser, but her gears wound down and she stopped with one foot lifted up, balanced perfectly on the edge. She looked like a cartoon character about to walk off a cliff. Jeffrey was afraid that any movement he might make would send her over to meet her doom on the gray, carpeted floor. He walked sideways over to the door doing the grapevine step he learned in gym class right before they taught square dancing. Everyone hated square dancing, but they kept teaching it year after year.
He made it to the door and carefully turned the knob. The bird stared at him as he walked backward into the hallway.
“Good luck!” the little bird said.
Jeffrey smiled back.
Inside his head he said, “Thanks! I’ll need it.”
The little bird understood.
ON HIS WAY over to the Kennedy Center, Jeffrey orbited the rotary of Washington Circle three times, crossing Pennsylvania Avenue, K Street, New Hampshire Avenue, and 23rd Street over and over and over again. He had read somewhere that if you walk in a circle around your bride three times, you were married. He felt married, he felt bound to Amber, inexplicably intertwined with her honeyed braids.
Each crosswalk offered Jeffrey a different view of the future: the White House down Pennsylvania Avenue, the Lincoln Memorial down 23rd, and the Kennedy Center down New Hampshire. Jeffrey turned down New Hampshire and noticed the sounds of his footsteps echoing Amber’s name: Am-ber, Am-ber, Am-ber. Left foot was Am, right foot was ber. This was a good sign. It was doubly good because Jeffrey had to pass the Watergate Hotel. Deep Throat could be on to him.
Jeffrey saw the action from a block away. The Kennedy Center was lit up with columns of light from the ground, just like the Metro. Extra lights flooded the entrance for the television crews. Jeffrey played it cool and watched from across the street. He noticed a traffic cop nearby and asked him what was going on.
“President’s coming through here,” he said. “Special award ceremony, lots of movie stars too.”
“Oh really?” Jeffrey said. He sounded truly surprised. He was convincingly playing the part of a curious passerby.
Then, stroke of genius, he asked the cop if people were allowed to watch. The cop said, sure, you can go right over as long as you stay behind the barriers. It’s crowded though. You might have to elbow your way in there if you want to see anything.
Gee, thanks, Officer Friendly. You sure are nice for a pig.
Jeffrey crossed the street against the light. He figured it was okay to jaywalk since the cop told him he could.
He made it to the crowd of fans and squeezed his way to the second row of people behind the barricades on the grassy knoll. He could see Secret Service men with their little wires going from their ears down into their suits. He wondered if they wore bulletproof vests. A little old lady was making her way along the red carpet that curved through the driveways. She wore a bright blue sequined dress and a white fur stole draped across her shoulders. On her head was a diamond tiara. Little old ladies liked to dress up and parade around this way thinking they were the Queen of England. Jeffrey didn’t think she was anyone famous. Not anymore.
A limousine pulled up and Jeffrey’s heart thumped wildly in his fragile chest. For a second he thought it might be Amber because he didn’t think presidents took limousines, but he knew that movie stars did. He wondered what kind of car the president took. Something official. Some kind of bulletproof police car. But maybe some kind of limousine. It could be a limousine.
The people in the crowd behind him pushed forward and Jeffrey was pressed into a guy in the front row whose long hair brushed against his face. The president appeared out of a secret entrance near the Hall of Nations, having bypassed the red carpet runway. He posed for pics under the flags, giving cheery little waves. A posse of tuxedoed Secret Service men encircled him and Nancy. Good, Jeffrey thought, he’s over there. That’ll keep the Secret Service out of the way.
Jeffrey was pressed so hard against the long-haired guy, he wasn’t sure how long it was before he turned his head back to the movie star gauntlet and noticed the second limousine. He wasn’t sure if the limousine had just pulled up or if it had been there all along calmly waiting for the good parking spot.
A chauffeur stepped around and held his hand out to the passenger inside the shaded luxury vehicle. A small, delicate, white hand placed itself in his palm. Amber emerged out of the darkness, her bright hair flowing free in the evening air. The silky pink dress clinging to her skin looked more like a slip than formalwear. It invited people to look at her body. She smiled at everyone. She blushed a little. A single tuxedo followed her a few steps behind. She didn’t have a date to the prom, it was just some hired thug.
Nancy and Ronnie waved like ruling emperors at the coliseum watching the virgin being sacrificed for fun. Then, not needing to see the carnage, they went inside.
Amber worked the crowd like a pro. She went over to people and shook their hands. She signed a few autographs. She accepted a teddy bear from a little girl and tousled her hair. She turned toward Jeffrey and started walking over to him. The movie screen that divided them, that kept her life separate from his, was melting away. The transparent fabric was vaporizing and Jeffrey could no longer tell if he was becoming a part of Amber’s movie or if she was becoming part of his.
He stuck his right hand in his pocket so he could feel for his gun and reached out with his left. Amber was shaking hands, moving down the line. She touched Jeffrey’s hand and gave it an awkward little squeeze. He was touching her. He wouldn’t let go. He had her. He had her now. All they had to do was make a run for it. Amber reached out with her other arm to clasp another fan’s hand, and she began to drift away with the crowd and dislodge from Jeffrey. Jeffrey pulled her back. She looked at him and smiled as she jerked her arm back. She wasn’t getting the message. It could be too late.
Jeffrey let his eyes travel all over her. He had never been this close before. She tried to jerk her hand away again. Jeffrey’s palms were clammy from nerves and he was afraid her slender hand would slip out. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist making a bracelet that snapped in place. In a barely audible whisper, he mouthed the words, “Let’s go.”
> Amber turned her head away from Jeffrey and motioned to her male escort. The tuxedo started heading over. Amber gave one more ladylike jerk and Jeffrey released her wrist. It was too late. She was too far gone. Jeffrey had to step in or there would be no hope for either of them. He was going to have to save her. He was going to have to shoot. He had thought she might run away with him when she saw him, but that wasn’t happening. She needed him to save her. That’s what had to happen.
This was Jeffrey’s movie. It would go down the way he wanted. He was the writer, director, and star.
Shoot forward, stab backward.
Six shots. Six chances. Good odds.
Jeffrey took a deep breath. He heard someone call, “Action!” inside his head.
Our hero draws his gun and locks his elbow in a straight line extending from his shoulder. His arm feels like part of the gun. It feels strong and made of steel. He pulls the trigger.
The first shot is loud and sends a jolt through his body. Women scream and everyone ducks down. Jeffrey feels better after the first shot. Things are in motion. There is no more worry about whether or not something is going to happen. He had jumped out of the airplane, the parachute had opened, and he was launched into a controlled free-fall. A pleasurable feeling of power sweeps across Jeffrey’s arms, the same arms that would soon hold Amber close and tight. With the second shot people scatter on the ground like cockroaches bombed out of their lairs. The Secret Service men draw their weapons. The tuxedo pimp grabs Amber. Fucker. Let go of her. Number three. Bang! Jeffrey gets used to the sound. Flashes are going off, Jeffrey is stepping out onto the red carpet. His fans are cheering. Some fucker tries to push his arm down. With his free hand, Jeffrey pulls out his knife and stabs the guy in the gut. We’ll see what you had for breakfast. Four. Pow! Amber is screaming, confused. She’s breaking down. He’s getting through to her. Jeffrey feels arms grab him around the waist. Jeffrey doesn’t care. He doesn’t care as long as he has that one arm. All he needs is that one arm. Someone kicks the back of his knees and makes him take a step forward. There are two bullets left, one for each of them. He has to take her with him, even if he isn’t getting out of here. That was the plan. Finish what you started. That’s what his dad would say. Jeffrey tilts his head to the side and presses his cheek into the flesh of his upper arm. Make it a good one. Do it for her.
I’m sorry, Amber. I love you. This might hurt. I love you. I’m sorry.
Five.
Amber turned around and lurched like a duck trying to fly off the surface of a pond. She looked directly at Jeffrey and opened her mouth as her pink bodice became soaked with red, matching the carpet beneath her glass slippers. She stumbled to her knees and collapsed to the Earth, blonde locks cascading perfectly over her face as a golden shroud. She was an angel now. Jeffrey had made her one.
Jeffrey felt exhilarated. He felt all the color being restored to his body. He heard the crowd screaming for him. He felt alive, alive, alive. So alive, he must’ve been dead before. He forgot about the last bullet meant for him. He could do it, but he didn’t need to. He didn’t want to. He felt great. He felt high. He was walking on air even as someone wrenched his arm behind his back, kneed him in the stomach and shoved his face down to the uncarpeted concrete. He loved that concrete. All the tiny pebble dots making up a smooth, hard surface with little glints of sparkles. The first time he spoke to Amber she was sitting on concrete. If he was lying like this and she was sitting there again, he would be able to see the clean white surface of her underwear glowing beneath her skirt.
He would be allowed in.
TO SEE THE WIZARD
Dress rehearsal was held during recess on the day of the performance. Everyone had to be back at school by six p.m. because the show was at seven p.m. The music teacher suggested they eat a light dinner and drink a cup of tea with lemon for their singing voices. When Tammy and Steffi got home from school they made two glasses of Nestea from a scoop of powder mix. They didn’t have any lemon so they put in honey instead. They had to keep stirring between sips because otherwise the honey would stick to the bottom.
Tammy’s mother and Nick got home around five fifteen p.m. Tammy told them that she and Steffi had to eat a light dinner and be back at school by six. Her mother said to make a sandwich. Tammy said a sandwich wasn’t dinner. A sandwich was lunch. Nick yelled, “Then I guess you don’t want dinner!” Tammy didn’t want them to yell anymore so she and Steffi made peanut butter sandwiches and ate them with their iced tea, side by side, at the table.
The red kitchen phone rang and Nick answered, “Mmm, hello?” He always answered the phone that way, and for the first year he lived with them, Tammy and Steffi thought he was saying “mellow,” and they didn’t understand what it meant. Nick talked in a smart-sounding voice, which Tammy knew meant it was something about work. After he hung up, he ran upstairs, and when he came down again, he had changed from his jeans back into the gray suit he had worn to work.
“How come you changed back?” Steffi asked.
“I have to go back to work,” he said. “I’m sorry, but . . . I think I’m going to miss your play.” He was about to say something else, but then looked down at the floor. “I’m really sorry,” he said again.
Tammy really didn’t care, but Steffi stared at her plate and the uneaten half of her sandwich. She put her hands in her lap and sat like that for a minute and Tammy thought she might lean down and try to eat her sandwich as if she had no arms. In order to do that, Steffi would have to get her face really close to the plate and try to scoop up the bread with her tongue. But of course, Steffi would never do anything like that. She had very good table manners. She kept her eyes on the jagged triangle of bread and peanut butter and didn’t do anything weird. Then, without saying, “Excuse me,” Steffi got up from the table and went upstairs. She didn’t finish her sandwich and she didn’t clear her plate.
A little while later, Tammy’s mother came downstairs and told her that Steffi was sick and she couldn’t be in the show tonight. Her mother said it would be all right because Steffi was in the chorus and they had lots of other people to sing. No one would mind, but could Tammy tell the music teacher when she got there?
There was one other thing—Tammy’s mother couldn’t come to the show either. Since Nick had to go back to work, her mother had to stay home with Steffi in case the asthma got worse and she had to go to the emergency room.
“So, basically, no one is coming to the play,” Tammy said. She put her hands on her hips and mashed her lips together. This always happened. Whatever was important to Tammy was overlooked or not important enough to anyone else. She would have been madder about it, but it happened all the time.
“Hugh wants to come,” her mother said.
It was the night of her play and Tammy was getting stuck watching her brother.
Tammy went up to her room to get ready. The separator door was open and she could see Steffi lying in bed, under her mustard blanket, curled up facing the wall.
“Are you really sick or are you faking it?” Tammy asked. She never asked Steffi this outright, but Steffi was being so obvious about it tonight.
Steffi slithered under the covers. She curled herself up tighter and her legs made an S shape under the blanket.
“I don’t feel well,” Steffi said.
“Do you have asthma?” Tammy asked, trying to trip her up and make her give herself away.
“I just don’t feel well.”
Tammy forgot that Steffi was the expert at being sick. If she wanted to, Steffi could probably make herself sick just by thinking about it. If Steffi were a superhero, that would be her special power.
“Oh well,” Tammy said in an attempt to make Steffi feel guilty, “guess you’re not going to be in the play.” Tammy acted like she didn’t care what Steffi did or didn’t do and started to close the separator door.
“I think you should do it tonight,” Steffi said quietly, a few decibels above a whisper, before Tammy could let go of the
doorknob. She didn’t turn away from the wall when she said it. Tammy was almost going to say, “Do what?” but she knew what Steffi meant. She wasn’t 100 percent sure, but she was pretty sure. Tammy rested her hand into the square part of the separator door that was missing a windowpane and let her fingers creep across the official boundary and into Steffi’s room.
“Tammy?”
“Yeah?”
“I think you should do it tonight. After the play.”
Steffi’s clock radio said 5:45. Tammy was 90 percent sure that Steffi was talking about going to Kirin’s house and getting Nick’s gun, but she wanted her to say it. She waited until the clock changed to 5:46, and then to 5:47, but Steffi didn’t say anything more.
“I have to go,” Tammy said.
Nick was on his way out the door and said he would give Tammy and Hugh a ride over, but they would have to walk home or get a ride from someone.
Nick dropped them off in front of school.
“Good luck,” he said and gave Tammy’s shoulder a little squeeze as she got out of the car. He was trying to be nice, but he didn’t know it was bad luck to say good luck for a play.
Tammy told Hugh to find a seat in the auditorium while she went to put on her costume. The girls’ bathroom was packed with everyone changing. Mrs. Perkins was helping them with makeup. Tammy put on her costume and covered her face with green eye shadow. She had to buy it with her allowance, but it was only ninety-nine cents and she could keep it afterward.
When the girls were finished getting dressed, they were told to go backstage. Tammy took her broom, which she brought from home, and her special hat, which she had decorated with gold glitter, and made her way through the audience to the stage door. Some mother with a little kid said, “Oh look, there’s the Witch!”
The show started with the narrator standing off to the side. The narrator was an easy part because he didn’t have to memorize his lines; he could just read them off the script at the podium. He was lit by a slide projector without a slide in it that made a square of light around his head.
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